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THE CHOOSING BOOK 


Boohs bo 

MAUD LINDSAY 


A STORY GARDEN for Little Children 

Illustrated, $ 1.50 


THE STORY-TELLER for Little Children 

Illustrated in colors, $ 1.50 


BORBY AND THE BIG ROAD 

LITTLE MISSY 
SILVERFOOT 
THE TOY SHOP 
THE CHOOSING BOOK 


Illustrated in colors, $ 1.50 

Illustrated in colors, $ 1.50 
Illustrated in colors, $1.50 
Illustrated, $ 1.50 
Illustrated in colors, %i.50 


By MAUD LINDSAY and 
EMILIE POULSSON 

THE JOYOUS TRAVELERS 

Illustrated in colors and black-and-white, $2.00 

THE JOYOUS GUESTS Illustrated in colors, $ 2.00 







Jamie went out and stood in the street to think.— Page 29 












THE 

CHOOSING BOOK 

BY 



Illustrated by Florence Liley Your\s* 
LOTHROP, LEE ix SHEPARD CO. 

BOSTON 




X* 


c 















LL I'OO 





Copyright, 1928, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All rights reserved 


The Choosing Book 



PRINTED IN U. S. A. 


\ 

grp 19 1928 

©Cl A 1 054596 




Dedicated to 

Mary Thayer and Mary Sampson, 

SOME OF WHOSE DEAR CHARACTERISTICS 
I HAVE BORROWED FOR TINTIL AND DICOMILL 


I 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Tintil or Dicomill? .n 

The Lad Who Went to Next Town . . . 21 

Guy of Godolphin Goes Hunting . . 33 

Whistling Colin.47 

The Forest Mother.69 

The Seven Sons of Saundy Saunderson . . 83 

The Little Path.93 

The Two Gifts.105 

How to See a Wind.117 

The Song with Riddles in It.129 

The Christmas Witch.145 

The Merry Bells of Wraye.157 

The King Who Cut Down the Enchanted 
Wood.169 










ILLUSTRATIONS 

Jamie went out and stood in the street to think 

(Page 29). Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

The child was as full of laughter as he had been 
of tears ....... 

He thought of all animals as pets 

“A fairy ring! A fairy ring!” . 

“And a blessing goes with it” . 

The very one that told the whole story 

Never was there sweeter Christmas music than 

the birds made that day!.154 

“See, the pearls and rubies that came from the 

Enchanted Wood”.172 


. . 66 
. . 74 

. 102 
. 110 
. 142 











































T INTIL and Dicomill were the best 
story-tellers in the Border Land; 
everybody agreed to that. But if any¬ 
body asked which was the better of the two— 
well, that was a hard question. 

All Tintil’s tales were about a Wood that 
was called Enchanted, but where this Wood 
was, he never told. Even when the children 
begged him to show whether it were this way 
or that way, he would only say: 


13 









14 


THE CHOOSING BOOK 


“Nobody knows, 

Yet it is a place where every one goes.” 

Or perhaps he would answer, “You must 
find it yourself,” and that was what every child 
longed to do. 

Whenever Tintil came up or down the road, 
with his little flute in his hand, and his cap, 
with a gay feather in it, on the side of his head, 
and a red leaf or yellow cowslip pinned on his 
coat, there was always a crowd to meet him, 
and it was, “Tintil, tell us a tale,” from the 
time he came till the time he went. 

Nobody knew where he lived. He was here 
to-day and gone to-morrow. And nobody knew 
whether Tintil were his real name or not, but 
it made no difference. It was a pleasant name 
to say, and suited him exactly. 

He was a rover, but Dicomill was a stay-at- 


TIN TIL OR DICOMILL f 15 

home. Dicomill lived in the house where he 
was born, which was the mill, and though he 
liked well to hear of other people’s travels, and 
learned more of them than you would think, 
he had never been farther than the next market 
town. 

He worked in the mill, and was often 
covered from his head to his toes with the dust 
of corn and the dust of wheat. It was easy to 
tell where he got his name. At first, it is true, 
he had been called “Dick of the Mill,” but this 
had soon been shortened to Dicomill, which 
suited him exactly and was just as pleasant to 
say as Tintil. 

On fine evenings when the wheat and the 
corn had been ground and the mill was quiet, 
Dicomill would sit in the doorway of his home 
and tell stories to any one who cared to listen. 


16 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

There was always a crowd of children, and 
grown people, too, around him. 

Dicomill’s stories had nothing magic in 
them. They might have happened anywhere in 
the Border Land, and sometimes his listeners 
thought that he was telling of people whom 
they knew. But if they said this to him, he 
would only shake his head and laugh. He was 
no great talker, anyway, outside his tale¬ 
telling. 

Now, one evening just as Dicomill had fin¬ 
ished a story and the children were begging for 
another, Tintil came down the road playing 
a gay little tune on his flute and stepping 
along as if he were leading a May dance. Dic¬ 
omill was the first to see him. 

“Now you shall hear a tale worth two of 
mine,” he said to the children, and he called 


TIN TIL OR DI CO MILL? 17 

to Tintil, asking him to stop and give them the 
news from the Wood that was called En¬ 
chanted. 

Tintil was willing enough to stop in such 
good company, but before he could begin a 
story some one in the crowd at the mill door 
had a great thought and spoke it out. “Why 
should not Tintil and Dicomill have a contest 
of tales?” he said. “Then we can decide once 
for all which is the better story-teller, a ques¬ 
tion that nobody can answer now.” 

Everybody was well pleased with this plan, 
especially the children, and the mayor of the 
town, who had come to smoke a pipe with Dic- 
omill’s father, the old miller, put his head out 
of the door to say that he would give six shil¬ 
lings to the one who was judged the winner of 
the contest. 


18 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

“And every listener shall have a vote,” said 
he. 

But though Tintil and Dicomill told story 
for story till their tongues were tired, the ques¬ 
tion could not be decided. If one listener voted 
for Tintil, another was sure to choose Dico¬ 
mill, and so it went till the mayor gave three 
shillings to each of the story-tellers and won 
himself the name of being a very wise mayor 
indeed. There were only two who were not 
satisfied with the settlement, and these two 
were no other than Tintil and Dicomill them¬ 
selves. 

“I know good tales when I hear them,” said 
Tintil, “and I vote for Dicomill.” 

“My tales are as plain as a mill-sack,” said 
Dicomill, “but Tintil’s tales are woven of rain¬ 
bow stuff, and the prize should be his.” 


TINT1L OR DICOMILL. f 19 

It is even said that they bought gifts for each 
other with the mayor’s shillings. 

That is as it may be, and was long ago, but 
when you have read their stories from begin¬ 
ning to end you may still vote for Tintil or 
Dicomill. All that you need do is to make your 
choice between them, and tell it to everybody 
you can find who has read the book, too. That 
is a merry ball to set a-rolling! 

Or, if you like, you may cast your vote in 
this way: 

Draw a circle for Tintil or a square for 
Dicomill on a bit of paper and give it to the 
wind. Yes, the wind is the only postman you 
can trust in such an important matter. He will 
take your vote somewhere, you may be sure of 
that. 

But whether you choose Tintil or Dicomill, 


20 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

here is a rhyme that is your very own, for 
was made for you: 

The child who loves a story-book 
A happy child is he, 

Who sits at home, yet roams abroad 
A wonder-world to see. 






Dicomill’s Tale 
of 

The Lad Who Went to 
Next Town 


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Ou) 


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THE LAD WHO WENT 
TO NEXT TOWN 


T HERE was once upon a time a lad 
who made up his mind to go to the 
town next to Wraye where he had 
lived all the days of his life. 

Next Town, he had heard, was a very large 
place with almost as many people as there 
were in London; or at least many more than 
in the town of Wraye. There were great 
shops in Next Town where grand things 
might be bought for little or nothing, and a 
church, the tower of which was higher by far 
than the tower of Wraye, and, besides all the 
other sights to be seen, the mayor of Next 


2 3 


24 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

Town rode out in a coach drawn by three 
white horses abreast; or so it was told. But 
the lad determined to find out the truth of 
everything for himself. 

“And while you are there, Jamie,” said his 
mother, “you rriust buy me a needle with a 
gold eye. It would be nothing but pleasure to 
sew with a gold-eyed needle, and that there 
are such things I am sure, for your own aunt 
knows a woman who got one, either from 
Next Town or a peddler, I forget which.” 

His mother was not the only one who 
wished something bought in Next Town, for 
no sooner had the news of his going spread 
than the innkeeper’s wife came hurrying in, 
with a shilling in her hand, to ask Jamie to 
bring her a pint of pickled plums. 

• “Never in the world have I eaten a pickled 


GOING TO NEXT TOWN 25 

plum,” said she, “and if they can be bought 
anywhere, it must be in Next Town.” 

A very small child followed the innkeeper’s 
wife. He had heard that there were no end of 
toys in Next Town, and, as he had a halfpenny 
to spend, nothing would do but that Jamie 
must bring him a pony made of lead. 

Then came the beadle, who was a most im¬ 
portant man in Wraye. He wanted a necktie 
to wear on Sundays, and his wife wanted a 
bonnet. 

‘T’ve little skill in choosing bonnets,” said 
Jamie, but the beadle would not listen to that. 
In Next Town there were such beautiful bon¬ 
nets that Jamie could not choose amiss. 

It seemed as if everybody in Wraye needed 
something that must be bought in Next 
Town. Somebody wanted a poker and tongs, 


26 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

and somebody else a pepper-pot. The parson 
came to bless the lad and asked him to fetch 
him a goose-quill pen, and a ploughboy 
who liked to sing brought a penny for songs. 
And there were others who wanted this, that, 
and what not, till Jamie began to fear that he 
could never remember all that he was told. 
That is, he was afraid until he thought of ask¬ 
ing the town clerk, who was skilful with 
words, to put everything into a rhyme for 
him. 

“Then they can jingle through my head and 
never get lost,” said he. 

The town clerk was more than half a day 
at his task, and, when he had finished, he had 
to teach Jamie the rhyme, for, though the lad 
was clever enough about some things, he could 
neither read nor write. It was a fine rhyme 


GOING TO NEXT TOWN 27 

that the clerk had made, and easy to learn. Be¬ 
fore Jamie started from home he knew every 
word of it: 

“A gold-eyed needle, and a big-headed pin, 

A bright tin saucepan to cook the porridge in, 

A one-legged poker, and a two-legged tongs, 

A pint of pickled plums, and a pennyworth of songs, 
A pepper-pot, a ginger-jar, a pony made of lead, 

A ribbon for a lassie to wear upon her head, 

A necktie for the beadle, a bonnet for his wife; 

The parson wants a goose-quill pen, the baker 
needs a knife.” 

All the way to Next Town Jamie was saying 
the rhyme, and when he got there he was so 
eager to do his errands, and get rid of other 
folk's money, that, before he had looked at 
anything, he hurried into a shop. 

The shopkeeper was glad enough to see him 


28 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

for, to tell the truth, Jamie was the first cus¬ 
tomer that day. 

“What do you lack, young sir?” he asked; 
and all at once the words that Jamie thought 
he knew so well began to jingle through his 
head at such a rate that it was hard for him to 
speak at all. 

“If you please,” he said at last, “I want— 
I want: 

A big-headed needle, and a two-legged pin, 

A bright, tin bonnet to cook a beadle in, 

A gold-eyed pony, and a pennyworth of tongs, 

A pint of pepper porridge, a ginger-jar of songs, 
A goose-quill ribbon, a necktie made of lead, 

A saucepan for a lassie to wear upon her head, 
A plum-pot for the baker, a one-legged knife; 

The parson wants a pickled pen, the poker needs a 
wife.” 



GOING TO NEXT TOWN 29 

“Did you say a pickled pen?” asked the 
shopkeeper, whose eyes were by this time as 
round as saucers with astonishment. 

“If I did I was mistaken,” said poor Jamie. 
“It was a pickled parson that I meant.” 

But that only made a bad matter worse. The 
shopkeeper and all his prentices began to 
shake their heads. The things that Jamie 
wished were not to be bought in their shop, nor 
in any other shop; no, not even in the great 
city of London. 

Jamie went out and stood in the street to 
think. Something was wrong, that was plain 
to see, but what? The words had all rhymed, 
wife with knife, and pin with in, and tongs 
with songs; and if he had left a word out he did 
not know it. Something had been pickled. He 
tried first one thing and then another, but the 


30 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

more he tried to remember, the more puzzled 
he grew. He would not give up, though, and, 
by and by, he felt so certain that he had learned 
his rhyme again that he went into the shop 
once more. 

The shopkeeper came to meet him as if he 
had never laid eyes on him before. “What do 
you lack?’' said he, and Jamie began: 

“A gold-headed beadle, and a tin pan made of lead, 
A necktie for a saucepot to wear upon its head, 

A ribbon for the plum-jar, and porridge for the 
tongs, 

A two-legged pony, and a pint of ginger songs, 

A bright-eyed poker, and a big, pickled pin, 

A pen-quill for the baker to cook a pepper in, 

A pennyworth of parsons, a needle and his wife, 
The goosie wants a bonnet, the lassie needs a 
knife. 


GOING TO NEXT TOWN 31 

“No, no,” cried poor Jamie. “The lassie does 
not need a knife, and there is nothing else left 
for her to have. I must begin all over.” 

But the shopkeeper and his prentices were 
pushing him out of the shop by this time, and 
they shut the door behind him as if they meant 
to see no more of him. 

He stood in the road not knowing where to 
go, nor what to do, and he might be standing 
there yet if he had not thought of the town 
clerk who had made the rhyme. 

“He can get it straight if anybody can,” said 
Jamie, and even though the mayor of Next 
Town was going by, not with a coach and three 
horses, but in a fine new gig and driving a 
spotted pony, the lad would not stop to look at 
him. 

He did not stop till he was safe in the town 


32 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

of Wraye and, what is more, he was so glad 
to get home that he gave back their pennies, 
and halfpennies, and shillings to his neigh¬ 
bors and never went to Next Town again; or 
so it is told. 
































GUY OF GODOLPHIN 
GOES HUNTING 


O NCE upon a time Guy of Godolphin 
rode to the hunt merrily, merrily, 
merrily; and no wonder. That very 
day a little son had come to the castle hall 
where a child had been wished for and longed 
for, oh, these many years, and his father was 
riding, merrily, merrily, merrily, to kill a deer 
for the christening feast. 

Guy of Godolphin was a great hunter, so 
great that a minstrel had made a song about 
him: 

“Tantivy, tantivy, away and away, 

Guy of Godolphin goes hunting to-day. 


35 


36 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

Up now and follow past brake and past brae, 
Guy of Godolphin goes hunting to-day. 

“Tantivy, tantivy, at peep of the morn 
Guy of Godolphin is blowing his horn, 

Up now and follow by ash-tree and thorn, 

Guy of Godolphin is blowing his horn. 1 ’ 

There was a third verse, too, which told of 
his home-coming and some people liked this 
best of all: 

“Tantivy, tantivy, what news do we hear? 

Guy of Godolphin comes home with King Deer, 
Up now and follow for feast and for cheer, 

Guy of Godolphin comes home with King Deer.” 

All that the minstrel sang was true. Guy of 
Godolphin was always the leader on a hunting 


GUY OF GODOLPHIN 37 

day, his horn could be heard for miles around, 
and, when he came galloping home in the eve¬ 
ning, nothing would do but that he must call 
his friends and neighbors in to feast with him 
on the good deer-meat that he had brought 
from the deep forest. And the castle-hall was 
filled with laughter and songs. 

But, on the day that his little son was born, 
the great hunter was late for the hunt. There 
was no one left to follow him and, though he 
blew his horn both loud and long, he had no 
answer to his call. He rode last and he rode 
alone but, for all that, he went merrily, mer¬ 
rily, merrily. 

Soon the christening feast would be held 
and all the countryside would come to see the 
little son. Little Guy of Godolphin, they were 
sure to call him. And soon again, for children 


38 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

grow fast, little Guy would ride with his 
father, away and away. 

“I shall take him before me on my saddle 
here,” said Guy of Godolphin, smiling at the 
thought. 

He was so full of his pleasant plans that he 
paid no heed to the turn of the road, and so it 
happened that, instead of riding to the deep 
forest where the other hunters were, he came, 
by and by, to the Wood that is called En¬ 
chanted, where no one had ever gone hunting 
before. 

All the days of his life Guy of Godolphin 
had heard of the Enchanted Wood and longed 
to see it, but now that he was there it seemed to 
him like any other wood; at least this was his 
first thought. 

But, though there were trees in plenty and 


GUY OF G0D0LPH1N 39 

thickets and mosses and little streams and shin¬ 
ing lakes in the Wood, of living creatures there 
was neither sight nor sound. Not a bird chirped 
in the tree-tops, not a fox nor a hare stirred in 
the bushes, not a deer trampled through the 
bracken. It was as if they had gotten word of 
the hunter’s coming and hidden themselves 
away. 

But Guy of Godolphin was not disheartened 
by this. He was as sure that there were deer in 
the Enchanted Wood as he was of his own 
skill as a hunter. 

“Let them lie ever so quiet, I shall find 
them,” said he. 

He rode softly now and slowly, keeping 
watch on every side. A bent twig might mean 
that deer had passed and a broken branch 
show the way that they had gone. 


4 o THE CHOOSING BOOK 

Guy of Godolphin knew all die signs of a 
wood, and some day he would teach them to 
his little son. 

“I shall make a great hunter of him,” he 
said to himself. 

He had ridden by ash-tree, and thorn-tree, 
he had ridden past brake, and past brae, with¬ 
out seeing so much as a lizard sunning himself, 
or hearing a sound but the beat of his horse’s 
hoofs, and he was just turning aside to a dell 
among the trees when rustle, rustle, snap, snap, 
something stirred in the thicket, something 
coming his way. 

He had scarcely time to stop his horse and 
raise his gun when the bushes opened and out 
came a milk-white doe and a fawn as brown 
as the velvet lining of a chestnut-burr. 

“O-ho!” cried Guy of Godolphin, “Here is 


GUY OF GODOLPH1N 41 

meat and to spare for a christening feast”; but 
for all that he lowered his gun. 

“There are more deer in the Wood than 
these,” he said, and he rode away as well 
pleased and happy as though the meat for the 
feast lay across his saddle-bow. 

When the little son was old enough he would 
bring him to this Wood that was called En¬ 
chanted and tell him of the doe and fawn, and 
how he had spared them. 

“It will make a fine tale,” said Guy of Go- 
dolphin. 

Mile upon mile he followed the winding 
road, or watched and waited in hidden places, 
keeping as quiet as the Wood itself, but no 
deer came. 

Perhaps, after all, he had been too quick in 
sparing both doe and fawn, he thought. The 


42 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

\ 

fawn was young, scarcely more than a summer 
old, and might have gone free, but there was 
many a hunter who would have been glad to 
take home a doe on a hunting day. Why, the 
minstrel had a song about something like that: 

“Off to the forest I will go, 

To shoot my shaft at a dappled doe; 

King or queen could never wish 
To dine upon a daintier dish.’’ 

And there was nothing finer for a lady’s feet 
than doeskin shoes. 

“Well, well, next time I shall be wiser,” said 
Guy of Godolphin, and the words had scarcely 
left his tongue when rustle, rustle, snap, 
snap, he heard something breaking through 
a thicket, something coming his way. 

He was just raising his gun to his shoulder 


GUY OF GODOLPHIN 


43 

when the bushes opened and out came, not 
King Deer that he longed to see, but the white 
doe and brown fawn as fearless and gay as if 
there were not a hunter in the world. And, in 
spite of all that he had thought and said of 
dainty dishes and doeskin shoes, down came 
Guy of Godolphin’s gun. 

“But have a care, little folk,” he called as he 
rode away. “Another meeting might make a 
different tale.” 

The Wood was as quiet as the bottom of a 
well as he rode on and on and on. The shadows 
that had been gathering in the dells and hol¬ 
lows for an hour past began to stretch across 
the paths and roads. Night was coming and the 
meat for the christening feast was still for him 
to win. 

“A feast for a hunter’s son without deer- 


44 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

meat would be a sorry feast indeed,” said Guy 
of Godolphin. 

Rather than that he would ride back to find 
the doe and fawn again, and this time he would 
spare neither the one nor the other. If all the 
countryside came to the christening there 
would be need of plenty. And did not the min- 

I 

strel sing of a little prince who wore 

“A golden chain about his throat 
And on his back a fawnskin coat?” 

“Why not such a coat for my little son?” 
thought Guy of Godolphin. 

He had more than half decided to turn back 
when, patter, patter, he heard the sound of 
little feet on the road behind him and, when 
he looked, what should he see but the white 
doe and brown fawn as fearless and free as if 


GUY OF GODOLPHIN 45 

there were no one in the Wood but themselves. 

“Here is good fortune,” said the great 
hunter, and it might have gone hard with the 
doe and fawn if it had not been for little Guv 
of Godolphin and his mother. 

But if you ask me what they had to do with 
it, all I can tell you is what Guy of Godolphin 
himself told the little wild folk when once 
again he left them unharmed and unfrightened 
in the Wood that is called Enchanted. 

“Look you,” he said, “it is because of my 
little son and his mother that I let you go free.” 
And though he went home with nothing to 
show for his watching and waiting he rode 
merrily, merrily, merrily. Oh, never was he so 
merry before! 

There was no deer-meat at the christening 
feast, but no one missed it. Why, what with 


46 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

dainty dishes and laughter and singing there 
never was such a feast before or since. The 
minstrel made a song about it and put into the 
song all the tale that you have heard and more 
besides. Some people thought it was the sweet¬ 
est song he had ever made, and if I knew the 
words and tune of it I would sing it to you. 























































WHISTLING COLIN 


O NCE upon a time a boy named Colin 
was wishful to go into the world to 
seek his fortune, and there was but 
one thing against it. He was as willing and 
strong as any lad but, except for whistling, he 
could do nothing beyond the ordinary. 

“And whistling will make no fortune,” said 
his father as the lad trudged away at last. But 
his mother was not so sure of this. 

“What a body does best can always be turned 
to account, and whistling makes friends, I’ve 
noticed that,” said she. 

Whether she was right about the fortune or 


49 


50 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

not you shall hear in good time, but as for the 
friends, she never spoke a truer word. Every¬ 
body had a pleasant look or a smile for Colin 
as he went by whistling his merry tunes; and, 
for his part, he was as well pleased with the 
world as he had thought he should be. 

All the while he travelled he kept his eyes 
open for a chance to earn an honest penny, 
and once, as he was looking about, he saw a 
little house, in front of which grew a cherry- 
tree full of fruit. 

“It is just such a house that I shall have when 
I have made my fortune,” thought Colin; “and 
in the yard I shall have a cherry-tree.” 

This was his first thought, and his next was 
that the cherries were ripe for picking. 

“Here’s work for somebody, and who wants 
it more than I?” he said to himself, and spy- 


WHISTLING COLIN 51 

ing an old woman in the doorway of the house 
he made bold to speak to her. 

“Good dame,” said he, “your cherries are 
ripe and ready to fall, and here am 1 to gather 
them for you at as little pay as a lad may ask. 
Promise me but a twopence and you shall see 
how nimble I am.” 

But the old woman was not so willing as 
Colin. 

“Many an idle lad travels on the King’s 
highway, and how do I know that more cher¬ 
ries would not go into your mouth than into 
my basket?” asked she. 

Colin had a mind to tell her that if she did 
not know an honest lad when she saw one her 
cherries might stay on the tree till the birds 
pecked them, but he remembered a saying of 
his mother’s: “Hasty words prove nothing.” 


52 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

So he began to cast about in his mind for an 
answer that would convince the old woman. 
And, as was nothing but natural, while he 
thought, he whistled. 

Immediately the old woman’s face which 
had been as dark as a rain cloud began to 
lighten. 

“Barking dogs never bite, and whistling 
mouths eat no cherries,” said she, and hurrying 
into the house she brought out a great basket 
and thrust it into the lad’s hand. 

“Whistle and pick,” said she; “but no 
whistling, no twopence, mind you that.” 

Whether Colin liked the bargain or not, he 
went to work gathering the cherries and whis¬ 
tling manfully, though before the basket was 
filled it was but doleful music that he made. 
The old woman was pleased, however. 


WHISTLING COLIN 53 

“ ‘Tis an honest lad that you are,” said she, 
“and you may have a cherry as well as the two¬ 
pence. Come, help yourself.” 

What Colin thought of her offer he did not 
say, but he would not refuse it, and when he 
had eaten the cherry he put the stone in his 
pocket. 

“Perhaps she has given me more than she 
thinks, for who knows but that I may plant 
this stone in my own dooryard some day, and 
have a tree from it?” he said to himself. 

While he was picking the old woman’s cher¬ 
ries he felt that once he was through with his 
task he would never whistle again; but he had 
not gone a mile when he was at it as gaily as 
ever, for night was coming and the road was 
lonely. He had good need of a lively tune to 
keep him company. 


54 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

He was glad enough when he saw, a little 
farther on, the light of a candle shining 
through the cracks of a hut by the wayside. 

“Now here is a place to sleep,” thought he, 
but when he knocked at the door it was a cold 
welcome he got. 

“Be off with you for a thief and a robber 
knocking at poor folk’s doors after nightfall,” 
called the goodman of the house, and, willy- 
nilly, Colin would have been forced to go if 
the goodman’s wife had not had more wits than 
her husband. 

“Do you not know the difference between a 
thief and a whistling laddie?” she asked, for 
she had heard Colin’s gay tune; and she 
opened the door without more ado. 

Colin got a night’s lodging and a bowl of 
porridge, besides, and he might have had 


WHISTLING COLIN 55 

them for nothing except for his wish to pay 
as he went, which his mother had told him was 
the best way to make a fortune. 

He was up and on his travels as soon as the 
sun shone, but, though he did not fail to seek 
it, work was harder to find than friendly 
words. Dusk caught him again trudging 
along the road and wondering where he would 
sleep that night. 

Far away he saw twinkling lights in many 
windows, but before he came to any house or 
inn, he spied a man who was standing where 
two roads met and peering anxiously, first at 
one, and then the other as if he were expecting 
some one. The moment he laid eyes on Colin 
he hastened to meet him. 

“Good lad,” said he, “have you not met Tall 
Tammas the piper, a bony man, with a head 


56 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

as red as the plaid he wears, and kilts as red as 
his head?” But seeing by Colin’s face what 
the answer would be, he did not wait for it. 

“Perhaps ’tis a harper you’ve seen,” he in¬ 
quired, “an old hoary man with a beard that 
reaches below his waist, and a grey cloak 
around him? I would not give Gibbie Grey- 
cloak for twenty pipers if you have seen him,” 
said he. But Colin had seen no harper, old or 
young. 

“Then what of a fiddler with one eye blue, 
and one eye brown,” said the man, “a lively 
young fellow like yourself, who likes his soup 
to the last wee drop. It would mean a sixpence 
for you to-night if you’ve seen Larry Lick- 
ladle. Now, what do you say to that, my lad?” 
he asked. 

There was but one thing that Colin could 


WHISTLING COLIN 57 

say, and if he said it with more laughter than 
politeness, it is no great wonder. 

“No,” said he choking over the word. And, 
“No,” again. 

“Then a plague on all pipers, and harpers, 
and fiddlers who cannot be found when the 
young laird and his company at the Inn are 
waiting for a tune to stir their feet,” cried the 
man, and he would have been off and away to 
seek the music-makers if Colin had not stopped 
him. 

“I can blow no pipes, nor play a harp, nor 
scrape a fiddle,” said he, “but for a supper and 
bed I can whistle a tune to stir any man’s feet, 
let him be who he will.” 

What he promised, he did, for if there was 
anybody at the Inn who kept his feet still that 
night, it has never been told; and as for the 


58 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

young laird, he was so pleased with the laddie 
that nothing would do but that Colin must ride 
with him to Edinboro Town and be a footman 
in his great house there. 

Colin was willing enough to go, though 
when he saw what the young laird’s footmen 
had to wear he may have wished that he had 
come on his own feet, and found a living for 
himself. 

Their coats were as green as meadow grass, 
and their breeches as red as a cock’s comb. 
The buckles on their shoes were as bright as 
a new tin pan, and their wigs were as white as 
a miller’s coat. When Colin was decked out 
like the rest, his own mother would scarcely 
have known him. 

Then what should he have to do but stand 
in one of the laird’s grand rooms to watch the 


WHISTLING COLIN 59 

company come and go; and wearying work he 
found it. 

He had not been there long enough for a pot 
of porridge to cool when his feet in his new 
shoes began to ache. His wig was too warm, 
and his coat was too tight, and he would have 
given all the fortune that he might make in 
Edinboro Town for a breath of the wind as it 
blew from the hills in the North Country. But 
seeing nothing else to do, he braced his back 
against the wall, and to pass the time away as 
best he could, began to whistle. 

Alack and alas, he was not well into his 
tune when all the other footmen came running 
to hustle him out of the room as if he had the 
plague that the innkeeper had been so free in 
wishing on Tammas the piper, and Gibbie the 
harper, and Larry the fiddler. 


60 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

“Dolt, unmannerly lout, country clown,” 
they cried. “Out with you and your whistling!” 

It was enough to bewilder any honest lad, 
and, to make matters worse, whom should he 
see coming toward him but the young laird’s 
father, the old laird. 

The other servants went hurrying away at 
the sight, and Colin might have gone, too, if 
he had not remembered what his mother had 
told him as many times as the years of his life: 
“If you have done no wrong, stand your 
ground.” So stand he did, though it was no 
easy matter when the old laird was looking 
him over as if he were a sheep at market. 

But, when he had looked his fill, what should 
the old laird do but offer to make a shepherd 
of Colin on his own fair lands in the North 
Country. 


WHISTLING COLIN 61 

“And keep up your whistling. I like it,” 
said he. 

In less time than it takes to make a tale like 
this, Colin was on his way to the old laird’s 
land, dressed in the clothes he had worn from 
home, and gay as a blackbird. 

But his adventures were not at an end, as 
you shall hear. He had not gone a furlong on 
the king’s highway when he saw three men 
coming from three different directions, and 
hurrying as fast as if the king had sent for 
them. 

One was a tall, bony man with a head as 
red as the plaid that he wore, and kilts as red 
as his head, and he carried bagpipes on his 
back. 

One of them had a harp. He was an old, 
hoary man, with a beard that reached below 


62 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

his waist, and a cloak that was grey as a Scotch 
mist, and a little the worse for long wear and 
rough weather. 

And one was a fiddler, a gay young fellow 
like Colin himself, with one eye blue and one 
eye brown, though this could not be seen far 
off. 

“Good day to you, Tall Tammas the piper, 
and old Gibbie Greycloak, and young Larry 
Lickladle,” called Colin as soon as he laid eyes 
upon them. “And where are you going so 
early and fast?” asked he. 

“To quiet the Earl of Cockburn’s bairn and 
turn his crying into laughter,” answered the 
three in one breath as it were. 

If Colin thought their errand was a strange 
one, he said nothing of the kind but wished 
them “good luck and safe journey,” as his 


WHISTLING COLIN 63 

mother had taught him. And all at once they 
were friends with him. 

“Come away with us to the Earl of Cock- 
burn’s house,” said they, “for to hear the 
grand music that we’ll make there is worth a 
day’s journey.” 

So off went Colin with the greatest piper, 
and greatest harper, and greatest fiddler to be 
heard anywhere, if what they told of themselves 
was true. 

Long before they came to the castle-house 
of Cockburn they could hear the bairn at his 
crying, and when they went into the hall they 
spied him in his nurse’s arms, weeping and 
wailing as if he had just begun. And all be¬ 
cause the earl and his lady had ridden to see 
the sights at the Fair, and he was left behind. 

Then Tall Tammas the piper made haste 


64 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

to throw aside his plaid that was as red as his 
own red hair, and taking his pipes he began 
to play. The sound that he made filled the Earl 
of Cockburn’s house and went beyond till 
everything on the place heard it. 

The pigs in the pen began to squeal, the 
sheep to bleat, and the horses to neigh. The 
geese and the ducks and the hens were fairly 
beside themselves with the music, and it is even 
said that Crummie the cow began to dance. 
But the Earl of Cockburn’s bairn only cried 
the louder. 

Then old Gibbie Greycloak took his harp, 
and touching the strings made a music that 
would almost have torn your heart out of your 
body with the sweetness of it, if you could have 
heard it. If it had not been so gay a tune it 
would have been a sad one, and if it had not 


WHISTLING COLIN 65 

been so sad it would have been gay, but which¬ 
ever it was, the Earl of Cockburn’s bairn only 
cried the louder. 

So Larry Lickladle stood up for his turn 
and a lively turn it was. No sooner had he 
scraped his bow across the fiddle-strings than 
all the maids left their spinning, and churning, 
and cooking, and cleaning, and all the lads 
left their ploughing, and planting, and came 
running and crowding to hear him play. But 
the Earl of Cockburn’s bairn only cried the 
louder. 

“There’s nothing to do but to fetch the earl 
and his lady home from the Fair, though it is 
an angry man he will be this day,” said the 
bairnie’s nurse, and she would have done that 
very thing if Colin had not begun to whistle 
just then. 


66 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

It was not a loud tune that he whistled but 
there were trills in it, and quivers, and quavers, 

I 

and twitterings till it almost seemed as if a 
flock of merry blackbirds were in the castle 
hall. 

He had not well begun when the bairn 
turned his head to listen; when he was half 
through, the wean was as quiet as if he were 
in his mother’s arms; and by the time the tune 
was finished the child was as full of laughter 
as he had been of tears. 

Colin might have had a home and plenty to 
do without going a step farther, but he had no 
wish to live in great houses. When he had 
feasted with his good friends, the piper, and 
harper, and fiddler, in the castle kitchen, he 
went his way to the old laird’s land. 

As time went on, he came to be head- 



The child was as full of laughter as he had been of tears, 

Page 66. 























WHISTLING COLIN 67 

shepherd there, with one pound, six shillings, 
and a sixpence for pay, and a wife to help him 
save it, which was fortune enough for him. 

And if you had chanced to go by his door- 
yard you would have seen a cherry-tree grow¬ 
ing there. 










































THE FOREST MOTHER 


O N a May Day when all the world was 
green and gold and all the sky was 
gold and blue, Little Guy of Godol- 
phin, the great hunter’s son, went alone to the 
Wood that is called Enchanted. 

He had not meant to go there. He had run 
out of the castle gates to catch a gay feather 
that was blowing about in the wind; then he 
had chased a butterfly that flew on and on just 
out of reach; next it was a bird with crimson 
wings that he had followed; and then all at 
once there was the Wood. 

He did not even know that it was an En¬ 
chanted Wood, but no sooner had he seen it 


71 


72 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

than he wanted to go in. He was not afraid. 
He was not afraid of anything, and nothing 
was afraid of him. As soon as he was in the 
Wood all the little wild folk came flying or 
running to peep down from the trees or out of 
the thickets to see him. 

The robin was the first to spy him, and the 
robin told the wood-thrush: 

“See here! See here! Little Guy of Godol- 
phin who loves all birds has come.” 

The thrush told a hare, and the hare a squir¬ 
rel, and the squirrel in turn took the news to 
a fleet-footed fox: 

“Good news! Good news! Little Guy of 
Godolphin who loves all birds and animals has 
come.” 

“The white doe must hear of this,” said the 
fox, and he ran without stopping to draw 


THE FOREST MOTHER 73 

breath till he found her feeding upon green 
grass in a far-away place with all the other 
deer. 

“Have you heard the news?” he cried. 
“Little Guy of Godolphin, the hunter’s son, 
has come alone to the Enchanted Wood.” 

Then the white doe hurried away to the 
Wood as swiftly as if her feet were shod with 
quicksilver. The child had not even made up 
his mind about the way he should go before 
she came in sight of him. And, when he sat 
down on a mossy stone to eat a honey-cake that 
he had brought from home in his pocket, she 
went softly and lay down beside him. 

He was not startled to see her for he had 
heard of deer, does and fawns and great stags, 
too, ever since he could remember; and, be¬ 
sides, he thought of all animals as pets. The 


74 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

doe had scarcely settled herself before he was 
stroking her head and offering her honey- 
cake. 

He had not been afraid when he was alone, 
but it was pleasant to have a friend in the 
Wood, and when, by and by, the doe got up 
and started away, he followed close at her 
heels. Already he had begun to think that she 
belonged to him and he called to tell her that 
she should have more honey-cake when they 
got home. 

Every now and then the doe looked back as 
if to see if he were coming, and once, when 
he started toward a lake that lay like a bright 
jewel in the sun, she sprang between him and 
the water and would not let him pass. 

“See, the child has found a forest mother,” 
said the little wild folk who watched them. 



HE THOUGHT OF ALL ANIMALS AS PETS. P(UJC 7 3 














THE FOREST MOTHER 75 

“Now perhaps he will live with us.” And they 
began to plan for him. 

“He must learn to climb,” said a squir¬ 
rel, “for that is the greatest accomplishment.” 

“If he lives in the Wood he must know how 
to leap and to hide, but I shall see to that,” said 
the hare. 

“I shall teach him to run,” said the fox. “No 
one can do that so well as I.” 

But while they talked, the white doe kept 
steadily on her way. The other wild folk 
meant well but, after all, it was she who had 
charge of the child. And, as for little Guy of 
Godolphin, he did not understand what was 
being said. All the sounds of the Wood were 
like one great song to him. He followed the 
doe wherever she went and thought that he was 
taking care of her. 


76 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

The doe did not stop to rest till she came to 
a dell around which grew five trees: an ash- 
tree, an oak-tree, a hazel-tree, a hawthorn-tree, 
and a willow with long green branches. A little 
bird had brought the trees the news of the child 
who had come into the Wood, and they were 
well pleased to see him for themselves. 

“How small he is!” exclaimed the ash, the 
tallest tree in the Wood. 

“True,” said the oak, “but he will grow. I 
once slept in an acorn, and now look at me.” 

“He is tall enough to see the nest that I 
hold,” whispered the willow, and she beckoned 
him to come to her. 

“There is no doubt in my mind that he came 
to the Wood to find flowers for May wreaths,” 
said the hawthorn, that was white with bloom 
that day, “and the doe has done well in bring- 


THE FOREST MOTHER 77 

ing him to me. I have blossoms enough and to 
spare.” 

“For my part I shall give him a wand to 
keep him from harm,” said the hazel, who 
thought herself a magic tree. 

Little Guy of Godolphin did not know that 
the rustling and stirring that he heard was the 
talking of trees, but it was not long before he 
found out for himself all that they wished to 
tell him. And then he began to feel very much 
at home in the dell. 

He gathered flowers from the hawthorn, he 
spied the nest in the willow’s low branches and 
stood on tiptoe to count the eggs that were in 
it, and he broke a long switch from the hazel. 

“But do not be afraid. I shall not strike you 
with it,” he told the white doe. 

The trees nodded and whispered above him. 


78 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

It was a pity that such a fine child could not 
live in the Wood forever; that was their opin¬ 
ion. 

“He could sleep at night on the moss at my 
foot,” said the oak. 

But the white doe soon started on her way 
again and the child went with her. Before he 
left, though, he ran to touch each tree. 

“Good-bye, good-bye,” he said, “I must take 
my white doe home.” 

He began to wish that he were at home for 
he was tired and hungry, too, and his feet 
lagged and stumbled. Presently a mother bird 
called out to the doe: 

“Can you not see that the little one is sleepy? 
Make a nest of long grass and tuck him in.” 

“So do,” said an owl from his perch in an 
oak-tree, “and I will keep watch over him. 


THE FOREST MOTHER 79 

You need have no fear, for I never close an 
eye at night.” 

But in spite of their kindness the doe went 
on, though she traveled slowly. A snail could 
almost have kept up with her, but little Guy 
of Godolphin still lagged and stumbled. At 
last he could go no farther. He sat down by 
the wayside, and when the white doe looked 
back as if to see why he was so long in coming, 
he was fast asleep. And it was just then that 
a great deer came bounding through the 
Wood. 

“The hunters are coming,” he cried to the 
doe. “I have run to warn you till I have no 
breath left.” And he had scarcely spoken when 
a rook flew down from a tree-top in a great 
flurry. 

“Be off! Be off!” she called, “the hunters 


8 o THE CHOOSING BOOK 

are out. I can see the light of their torches from 
my watch tower.” 

All the Wood was in a stir at the news, 
though there were a few among the wild folk 
who could not believe it. 

“I have lived long and heard much,” said the 
owl, “but never of a hunt on a May Day.” 

“Nevertheless, the tidings are true,” said a 
rabbit that had just come home to the Wood. 
“I saw Guy of Godolphin and all the other 
hunters with my own eyes as I lay hidden in a 
thicket. They did not pass so much as a bush 
without stopping to peep into it, but what they 
were seeking I cannot tell.” 

“I can and will,” said a swallow that was 
flying through the Enchanted Wood on her 
way to the chimneys of the king’s palace. “I 
had the whole story from my friend, the swift 


THE FOREST MOTHER 81 

who builds her nest in the castle chimney. Guy 
of Godolphin’s little son is lost, and the hunters 
have ridden half a day in search of him. Never 
was there such sorrow and fear in the castle 
before.” 

“Child or no child, May Day or no May 
Day,” said an old fox, “I shall not wait for 
hunters. The sooner I am hidden away, the 
safer I shall feel.” 

“True,” said the great deer. “The deep forest 
is the place for me to-night.” 

But the white doe had no fear. While the 
others were talking she kept watch over little 
Guy of Godolphin and, when they begged her 
to take heed to herself, she only said: 

“Have a care, or you will wake the little 
one.” 

When Guy of Godolphin and his friends 


82 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

came riding through the Wood that is called 
Enchanted they spied her standing by the road, 
as still and white as if she were made of marble. 
And if it had not been for this they might have 
passed the spot where the child slept without 
finding him; or so it is thought. 

But when little Guy of Godolphin waked 
up safe and sound in his father’s arms and 
called for his white doe, she could not be 
found. Nobody ever saw her again. 

Yet every year when May Day came round, 

p 

nothing would do but that little Guy of Godol¬ 
phin must go to the Wood that is called En¬ 
chanted to lay a honey-cake under the oak-tree 
in the dell. And, as the cake was always gone 
when he went back next day to see, he was very 
sure that the white doe had eaten it. “And why 
not?” asks the story-teller. 



















































THE SEVEN SONS OF 
SAUNDY SAUNDERSON 


S AUNDY SAUNDERSON was a wor¬ 
thy man and a thrifty one. He was 
mindful of his own business, and of the 
mind to leave the business of others alone, and, 
because of this, and because he was both hon¬ 
est and cautious, he lived a good life, and made 
a good end when his time came. 

Now Saundy Saunderson had seven sons, 
and, when he knew that his hour was near, he 
called them to his side and said: 

“It is sure that I can take nothing with me, 
and ’tis little that I leave behind, but that little 

85 


86 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

lies under the great log in the barnyard, and is 
for him who moves the log.” 

And when he had said this, and had bade 
the sons take care of the cat, and cover the fire 
each night, he closed his eyes and passed away 
without another word. 

The seven sons mourned for Saundy Saun- 
derson for seven days, but on the eighth day, 
as they sat beside the fire together, the oldest 
son said to his brothers: 

“Which of us shall first try his luck with 
the log?” And the others answered: 

“Go you, for you are the oldest and it is only 
fair that you should have first place.” 

The oldest son of Saundy Saunderson was 
a strong man. He could lift an ox, as the saying 
is, and there was not a wrestler to match him 
in all the countryside. 


SEVEN SONS OF SAUNDY 87 

But strong as he was, and strive as he did, 
he could not stir the log that lay in the barn¬ 
yard, so he went in and said to the son nearest 
him, “Go you, and try.’’ 

The second son was a man of skill. If any¬ 
thing went amiss in the village, from the 
chimes in the church steeple, to an old 
woman’s spinning-wheel, he was the one to set 
it straight; and as for new ways to do old tasks, 
he was a wonder. 

“He’ll move the log if anybody can,” said 
his brothers, but, though he spared neither 
thought nor pains, his skill failed him and he 
came to sit by the fire while the third son took 
his turn. 

The third son was a speechful lad. He had 
twenty words at his tongue’s end to any other 
man’s one, and no matter what was talked 


88 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

about, a shower or a stranger, a stray dog or a 
pastry cook, he was sure to have more to say 
than anybody else. But talk has never yet 
moved a log, and the lad was soon back empty- 
handed, and as cross as six sticks. 

“ ’T is a sorry, ill-seasoned, stubborn log, 
too tough to cut, too green to burn, too heavy 
to lift. There’s better fortune in sitting still and 
saving breath,” said he. But, nevertheless, the 
fourth son rose in his time. 

The fourth son of Saundy Saunderson was 
a silent soul, but whether he was still because 
he lacked the sense to speak, or whether he 
held his peace because he was wiser then most 
folk, it would be hard to tell. But this is so: 
when he had gone into the yard, and walked 
around the log twice or thrice, he came to his 
seat beside the fire without a word. 


SEVEN SONS OF SAUNDY 89 

The next two sons of Saundy Saunderson 
were sturdy, stalwart lads. They were always 
ready to follow and serve in any good cause, 
but if either one had ever started as much as a 
tune by himself, his own brothers did not 
know it. So, though they got up in turn and 
went into the yard, nobody was surprised 
when they came back shaking their heads with 
sheepish looks. 

Now, all the time the other sons had been 
making trial with the log that hid their father’s 
fortune, the youngest son of Saundy Saunder¬ 
son had sat by the fire studying. He was the 
seventh son of a seventh son, and as shrewd as 
an old wife, but he was a small lad, slim as a 
young birch-tree. 

Said he: “ ’T is plain to see that I can move 
no log, but, while I have been sitting here be- 


9 o THE CHOOSING BOOK 

side the fire, I’ve thought that what one can¬ 
not do alone, seven may do. What say you, 
shall we move the log together and share the 
fortune?” 

The others were well pleased with what he 
said. 

“Who knows but that it was just such a 
thing our father had in mind? The log will 
stand no chance against seven, that is sure,” 
said the third son, and he would have said 
more had it not been that his brothers were 
too busy to listen. 

The skilful son made all the plans and gave 
to every one his place and part. The strongest 
stood at the heaviest end of the log and the slim 
lad at the lightest. The third son had a chance 
to use his tongue as well as his hands for he 
was the one who gave command: 


SEVEN SONS OF SAUNDY 91 

u One, to make ready; 

Two, stand ye steady; 

Three, for a cheer-O; 

Four, here we go.” 

\ 

Up came the log and there lay seven shil¬ 
lings which was all the fortune that Saundy 
Saunderson had saved. 

Yet, though they got but a shilling apiece, 
the seven sons prospered from that very day. 
And, if they are not dead, they are living still. 














































» 


THE LITTLE PATH 


T HERE was once a little maid who 
very often went from her home on 
one side of the Wood that is called 
Enchanted to her aunt’s house on the other 
side. 

She went so often by the same road that 
there was not a tree, nor a bush, nor a stick, 
nor a stone, nor anything else along the way 
that she did not know'. At least so she thought 
until one day when she spied a tiny path in the 
Wood that she had never seen before. 

It was the smallest path that can be im¬ 
agined, scarcely wider than my two hands put 
side by side; and, if it had been scrubbed with 


95 


96 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

soapstone, it would not have been whiter. 
There was something about it, too, that made 
it different from other paths, or so the little 
maid thought. No sooner had she laid eyes on 
it, than she wished, above all things, to follow 
it and find out where it went. 

Such a tiny path would not be a very long 
one, she thought. Surely she would have time 
to go to the end of it and get to her auntie’s 
house, too, before the sun went down. 

But the little path was not short and neither 
was it straight, as the little maid soon found 
out. 

Twist and turn, 

Twist and turn, 

Through moss, 

Through fern, 

Climbing hills, 


97 


THE LITTLE PATH 

Leaping rills, 

Creeping under tangled vines, 

Ivy stems, woodbines, 

In sun, in shade, 

Hollows brown, 

Green glade, 

Twist and turn, 

Twist and turn, 

Through moss, 

Through fern— 

That is the way the little path went and 
wherever it went the little maid followed it. If 
she said to herself, “Perhaps I had better turn 
back at the blackthorn,” or ‘Til only peep 
beyond the thicket there,” she was sure to see 
something that made the little maid eager to 
go farther. 

On either side of the little path grew flowers: 


98 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

Bluebell, 

Speedwell, 

Columbine, 

Wild Thyme, 

Muskmallow, 

Golden Sallow, 

Lady’s Smock, 

Charlock, 

Sundew, 

Meadow Rue, 

Gold of Pleasure 
Without measure,— 

All these grew by the path and, if there had 
been time, nothing would have pleased the 
little maid more than to have gathered her 
hands full of posies. 

“But I’ll come back to-morrow morning 
and bring a basket,” she said to herself as she 
hurried on. 


THE LITTLE PATH 99 

At first she had thought that she was all 
alone on the little path, but by and by she saw 
that she had company in plenty. 

First there went a spotted toad, 

Then Snailie with his load, 

Lizard with a crimson tie, 
Brown-and-yellow butterfly, 

Bumblebee in golden vest, 

Moth in softest velvet drest, 

Humming-bird with ruby throat, 

Lady-bug in gay red coat. 

Hopping, creeping, or flying, all of them 
traveled the very same way that she was going. 

“There must be something at the end of the 
little path, or so many would not follow it,” 
said the little maid; but every time she thought 
she had reached the end, off the path would go 
in another direction: 


100 


THE CHOOSING BOOK 


Twist and turn, 

Twist and turn, 

Through moss, 

Through fern— 

Then, just when she was least expecting it, 
she came to a tiny dell among the trees where 
there were no paths at all. 

The little maid looked about to see why 

0 

the little path had led to such a lonely far¬ 
away spot. A holly-tree grew there, but who 
would walk a mile and more to find a holly- 
tree when the Wood was full of them? There 
was sweet fern, too, almost a hedge of it, but 
that was nothing to bring a little maid, or any¬ 
body else, out of her way. And there were three 
flat stones lying close together in the grass. 

“But what are three flat stones but three flat 
stones?” thought the little maid, and she was 



to 

♦ 

v 





THE LITTLE PATH ioi 

just turning to go when she spied something 
that set her heart to beating fast: 

Twenty little toad stools growing in a ring 
around the greenest grass that ever was- 

“A fairy ring! A fairy ring!” cried the little 
maid, for her aunt had told her all about such 
things. 

A fairy ring where fairies danced at night, 
yes, and was not the holly a gentle tree such as 
fairies loved? And ferns bore magic seed; she 
had heard that a hundred times. And the three 
flat stones were exactly like wishing-stones 
now that she had looked at them again. 

Why, the little path had led to fairyland! 
There was not a doubt about it; or so the little 
maid thought. 

“I must run this very minute and tell every¬ 
body,” said she. 



102 THE CHOOSING BOOK 


There was her aunt and wee lame Jem who 
so loved fairy tales, and oh, many another 
child! If she made haste they might come to 
see the fairies dance that very night. Think of 
it! Fairies dancing right before one’s eyes, 
maybe! And perhaps her auntie would bake 
tiny cakes cut out with a gold thimble to lay 
on the grass for the little Good People. If only 
there were time! 

But it was late. The sun was already low, and 
shining like a great red coal through the 
trees. 

“It will soon drop behind my auntie’s 
house,’’ said the little maid aloud, and she had 
not finished her words before she started 
through the Wood toward the setting sun. She 
ran so fast that she never could tell the way 
she went. 









THE LITTLE PATH 103 

She did not even stop to draw a breath till 
she spied her auntie standing in the doorway 
of her house. 

“Where have you been, dear child?” called 
the aunt, for the sun had set, and it was high 
time for little maids to be at home. 

“In fairyland, in fairyland,” called the little 
maid, “and you can go there, too. I will show 
you the little path.” 

But, do you believe it, when they went to¬ 
gether to the Enchanted Wood they could not 
find the little path! It was just as if somebody 
had picked it up and carried it away. 

The little maid and all the other children 
are still looking for it, and if they ever find it 
you shall hear of it. I promise you that by the 
new moon over my right shoulder. 
















































THE TWO GIFTS 


J OHN-WILL had two godfathers for 
whom he was named and, when he was 
old enough to try his fortune away from 
home, he went to ask their blessings and to bid 
them good-bye. 

Godfather Will was a man of property and 
fashion, too. He had more windows in his 
house than anybody else in the town. His 
money-bags were filled to overflowing, or so 
it was told, and when he went to take the air 
he carried a gold-headed cane in his hand. So 
you can see for yourself what he was like. 

He had been so busy with money-making 
and merry-making that he had almost forgot- 


107 


io8 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

ten that he had a godson, but when he had 
looked at him twice and had asked his name he 
recalled the very day that the lad was chris¬ 
tened. It was hard for him to believe, though, 
that the baby he remembered had grown up 
into such a fine young man. 

“You must have a gift to take with you,” 
said he, and he brought out a purse, almost as 
long as a man’s sock, full of money, golden 
guineas, and crowns, and half-crowns. 

“Spend freely,” said he, as he gave the purse 
to the lad, “for you will be young but once.” 

John-Will was well pleased with such a gift, 
you may be sure, and what with looking at the 
coins and thanking his godfather, he forgot 

all about the blessing for which he had come 

« 

to ask. 

He was still rejoicing in his good fortune 


THE TWO GIFTS 109 

when he came to the other godfather’s house. 

The second godfather was neither very rich 
nor very poor, but he was busy from morning 
till night, for he had a garden that was the 
delight of his eyes; and a very fine garden it 
was. 

He was out at work in it when John-Will 
came up, but no sooner had he spied the lad 
than he dropped his spade and hurried to meet 
him. 

“It seems only yesterday that I was at your 
christening,” he said, wiping away a tear as 
he spoke. “What a baby you were! ’Tis no 
wonder that you have grown to be such a fine, 
strong fellow. And here you are starting out 
for yourself,” said he. 

“Yes, Godfather John, and I have come to 
bid you good-bye and ask your blessing,” said 


no THE CHOOSING BOOK 

John-Will, for now that he had a fortune in 
his pocket he was eager to be off. 

But Godfather John had a gift for him, too: 
a bag of grain from his seed-house. 

“And a blessing goes with it,” said he as he 
put it into the lad’s hand. 

John-Will loved his godfather and thanked 
him for his gift, but in his heart he wished that 
he could leave it behind. The bag was both 
heavy and clumsy, an ill-looking burden for 
a young man to carry, especially for one who 
had money to spend. Nevertheless he shoul¬ 
dered the bag and marched away with as good 
a grace as he could manage. 

He was scarcely out of sight, though, when 
he began to look about for a place where he 
might get rid of the gift, and finding an open 
space apart from the road he scattered the 



» 


“And a blessing goes with it .’’—Page lio. 


















THE TWO GIFTS in 

grain on the earth with a lavish hand and came 
away. 

“Now I shall begin to enjoy myself,” said he, 
and he hailed a coach that went by just then 
and got in, for a rain was threatening, and, 
besides, he was glad of a chance to show how 
rich he was. O-ho, it was grand to ride in a 
coach with the rain pattering overhead! 

When he came to an inn, as come he did, he 
bade the innkeeper show him the best room, 
and for supper he had roast duck and rasp¬ 
berry jam and apple tart and all the other good 
things of which you can think. 

The innkeeper and the innkeeper’s wife and 
all the servants, besides, were eager to wait on 
him, and it was soon whispered about that he 
was a very great man, though in disguise. 

To tell the truth, the clothes that he wore 


112 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

were not those that a man with a purse of 
money should have, and John-Will soon found 
this out. Then off he went to the tailor’s shop 
where he bought a velvet suit that fitted him as 
well as if he had been poured into it. 

“If only you had a brooch to fasten your 
coat, the young laird himself would not make 
a better appearance,” said the tailor. 

“Then I must have a brooch,” said John- 
Will and, as the tailor kindly pointed out the 
goldsmith’s shop, the lad lost no time in lay¬ 
ing out more money there. 

Every day went as merrily as a silver bell 
with a golden clapper. As long as Godfather 
Will’s gift lasted, nobody was so gay and 
proud as John-Will. 

But there came a morning when, looking 
into the purse, he saw nothing but the bottom 


THE TWO GIFTS 113 

of it, and then the world took on a different 
color. 

Still the lad was not too much disheartened. 
Fine clothes that cost money would bring 
money he thought, and so they did, though not 
half as much as he had paid for them. 

He sold first one thing and then another to 
keep alive, till at last he found himself with 
nothing but the clothes that he had worn when 
he began his travels. There was a penny in the 
coat pocket, and, seeing nothing better to be 
done with it, he bought a loaf of bread and 
made up his mind to go home. 

It was a long way and a weary way that he 
had to go, and when at last he came near his 
own town, which was the town of Wraye, he 
was so covered with dust from the coaches that 
had passed him that he turned aside from the 


114 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

road and followed a by-path for fear he might 
meet some one who knew him. 

He was trudging along with a heavy heart 
when, all at once, he spied ahead of him some¬ 
thing bright and yellow that waved in the 
wind. And, when he had gone nearer, what 
should he see in the very spot where he had 
thrown away the grain but a patch of ripened 
wheat all ready for the harvesting. 

The same rain that had pattered on the roof 
of the coach where he had ridden so proud and 
gay, had beaten the grain into the earth. And 
while he had been at his money-spending and 
merry-making it had taken root and grown till 
now it was as bright as gold in the sunshine. 

“Oh, what a fine gift my Godfather John 
gave me!” cried John-Will, and, forgetting all 
his troubles, he ran to the town to find reapers. 


THE TWO GIFTS 115 

Some of the wheat was sold to the miller of 
Wraye, and some laid away to plant in the 
spring. And what with golden harvests from 
every planting and seed to plant from every 
harvest, Godfather John’s gift is lasting yet.* 

* After the story was finished Dicomill said to the children: 
“It is true enough that wheat sometimes falls into the earth and 
grows and bears harvest without more care than that which the 
sun and the rain give, but such a thing does not happen often. 
John-Will had to work hard for his other golden harvests, you 
may be sure of that.” 






























HOW TO SEE A WIND 


T HERE was once a child who wished 
above all things to see a wind. He 
lived with his grandmother in a tiny 
hut just across the road from the Wood that 
is called Enchanted, and this may have been 
one of the reasons that he had such a wish. It 
was said that winds lived in this Wood, and 
whether this were true or not, the child liked 
to believe it. 

Then his grandmother talked a great deal 
about winds. If she had a twinge of rheuma¬ 
tism, she was sure to think that the East Wind 
was to blame for it. Or, sometimes as the child 


120 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

lay on his little pallet-bed, she would bring an 
extra quilt to wrap about him. 

“The North Wind has come and we shall 
have a cold night,” she would say, and then the 
child would hear a great noise outside like the 
galloping of a horse; or so it sounded to him. 

Another time, when he wanted to leave his 
supper to see who was passing by, his grand¬ 
mother said: “Oh, it is only the South Wind 
among the leaves and flowers.” 

And it was from her that he learned this 
rhyme: 

“When the wind is in the West, 

It is at its very best.” * 

Yet if he asked: “Grandmother, how does 
the South Wind look?” or “What is the West 
Wind like?” she would always answer: 

* Old weather rhyme. 


HOW TO SEE A WIND 121 

“Tut, tut, child, nobody has ever seen the 
wind.” 

All this made him eager to have his wish, 
but there was still another reason. He was born 
in March, which every one knows is the month 
of winds, and once, on his birthday, a wander¬ 
ing minstrel stopped to rest at the little house. 
He was a gay young minstrel and when he 
learned that it was the child’s birthday, he said: 

“Well, well, it takes a March child to catch 
the wind.” 

The child was all interest when he heard 
that. 

“What would I do with it if I caught it?” he 
asked. 

“Why, ride on its back, to be sure,” said the 
minstrel, but the child wished to know still 


more. 


122 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

“Where would I go?” said he. 

“Oh, above the steeples and above the tree- 
tops to drive the cloud-sheep home,” answered 
the minstrel and he went away laughing, 
though the child had another question, a very 
important one, to ask: how could he catch 
what he could not see? 

Still he had great hopes of doing both these 
things. Somebody had to be the first to see or do 
anything, his grandmother had often told him 
that. So, sometimes, he would lie as quiet as the 
earth itself, and wait and watch for a wind to 
come; or, sometimes, when the leaves and 
grasses began to stir in a breeze he would 
jump from behind a tree or run around the 
corner of the house with his arms wide-spread. 
But, though he felt the wind and heard it all 
about him, he saw nothing. 


HOW TO SEE A WIND 123 

Then one night he waked up suddenly with 
a new plan in his head. He would go to the 
Enchanted Wood to catch a wind. And “Why 
wait until morning?” he thought. The moon 
was shining as bright as day, and he was very 
wide awake. It was true that his grandmother 
was asleep, and so could not hear of what he 
intended to do, but it would be a fine thing to 
surprise her with the great news if he could 
carry out his purpose. So, making no more 
noise than a butterfly, he slipped out of bed 
and tiptoed to the door. He did not even take 
time to dress. The very next minute he was 
running across the moonlighted road, and into 
the Enchanted Wood. 

Almost every day he played in the Wood, 
but nothing looked the same to him that night. 
It seemed as if the moon had changed every 


124 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

thing to silver. The leaves and the tree-trunks, 
the long trailing vines, and the little stream of 
water that ran through the mosses were all 
shining in the light; and everything was quiet. 
He still tiptoed to keep from making any noise 
himself. 

He knew just where he wanted to go. If the 
winds lived in the Enchanted Wood, their 
home was sure to be near the aspen-tree, which 
was never still. When he came in sight of it 
that night, its branches and leaves were quiver¬ 
ing ever so gently, though nothing else seemed 
to stir at all. His heart began to beat very fast. 
Surely this was the place where his wish would 
come true. 

He sat down at the foot of the tree, and 
waited, and watched, and watched, and waited, 
till his eyes were too tired to stay open an- 


HOW TO SEE A WIND 125 

other moment. He had to close them, which 
was a very fortunate thing, as you shall hear. 
No sooner were they shut tight than he saw 
coming out of the bushes before him, four 
great horses, the most beautiful that can be 
imagined. 

One was as white and glistening as frozen 
snow, with a mane that looked as if it were of 
spun silver. Its tail was silvery, too, and its 
hoofs were the brightest silver of all. They 
sparkled and shone like the Northern Lights, 
as the great horse pranced and danced. 

“Why, that is the North Wind,” said the 
child just as he might have said “Oh, that is my 
tabby cat,” or “Here is the brindled calf.” It 
seemed to him then as if he had always known 
how the North Wind looked. 

The second horse was the very color of sun- 


126 THE CEI00S1NG BOOK 

light. The whole Wood was lighted up with 
the glow of its long golden mane, and its bright 
golden hoofs; and its breath was as warm as a 
flame of fire. 

“Oh, how beautiful the South Wind is!” said 
the child, and he was not surprised at what he 
said. Why, of course it was the South Wind! 

And he knew that the next horse, which was 
as grey as the morning mists, with starry eyes, 
and a star on its forehead, was the Wind from 
the East; though he could not believe that such 
a wonderful creature had anything to do with 
his grandmother’s rheumatism. He must tell 
her that she was wrong. 

The last horse was a roan with a satiny coat 
and glossy mane, red as the reddest sunset. 
This was the West Wind, nobody could be 
mistaken about that. 


HOW TO SEE A WIND 127 

“My grandmother likes the West Wind best 
of all, so perhaps I’d better catch that one,” 
said the child, and he was just reaching out his 
hand to take hold of the red roan’s mane when 
he heard some one calling, and calling: 

“Laddie, laddie, where are you? Come 
home.” 

“Just as soon as I have caught a wind,” he 
answered, opening his eyes as he spoke. And, 
do you believe it? the winds were nowhere to 
be seen. 

There are some people who say that he did 
not see them at all. “How could he see them 
unless his eyes were open?” they ask. 

But there are others who have a different 
opinion. They believe that the child discovered 
the only way to see a wind; which is, they say, 
with your eyes shut. 




















































THE SONG WITH RIDDLES IN IT 


HERE was once upon a time a Long 



Song-Seller who went about London 
Town with all his wares fastened 


upon a pole and fluttering in every breeze that 


blew. 


He had songs about everything under the 
sun. Merry songs, sad songs, songs for Sunday 
and songs for Monday, or any other day, and 
all at the lowest price that you could wish. 

“Three yards for a penny; Songs! Beautiful 
songs,” called the Long Song-Seller, for that 
was the way he sold them. If any one stopped 
to buy, the songs were measured off just as if 
they were made of fine linen or bright silk, in- 


132 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

stead of fine words and lovely rhymes printed 
on paper. 

On most days when the weather was fair, the 
song-peddler had good fortune, for there are 
many who love a song. But one day the only 
customer he had was the wind. And never a 
penny the wind had to pay. 

The Long Song-Seller could not get away 
from the wind. At every corner it was waiting 
for him, and, before the poor peddler could 
find a shelter, his yards of beautiful songs were 
tattered and torn and blown here and there, 
hither and thither. 

What became of them all, nobody knows, 
but one strip of paper with a gay little song 
printed on it, blew away by itself, through the 
streets and lanes of London Town, and out into 
a country road. 


THE SONG WITH RIDDLES 133 

All the way the wind was chasing, and 
whirling, and twirling, and twisting it until it 
was torn into a dozen pieces, which flew here 
and there, hither and thither. Some of them 
were caught on this, and some were trapped 
by that till, at last, there was only one scrap of 
paper left traveling on the road. 

The wind hunted it into corners, tossed it up 
to the tree-tops and down again, and landed it 
at the feet of a lad who was standing by the 
roadside, singing to himself, and longing for 
a new song, if the truth be told. There was no¬ 
body in London Town, nor in all the world, 
who loved a song more than he did. 

When he first spied the scrap of paper, he 
had no thought of picking it up, but, just as 
he was turning away to go home, he caught 
sight of the printing on it. And he was not a 


134 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

lad who would ever let a chance for reading 
go by. 

Before the wind, which was rising for sport 
again, had time to snatch away the paper, the 
lad had it fast in his hand, and was poring over 
the words that were on it: 

“There were three lassies as Fve heard tell, 

Hey, hey, nonny! 

Who went to market their wares to sell! 

Hey, bonny lassies! 

“The first brought gold in—” 

Here the scrap of paper ended, but not the 
lad’s interest. He was all eagerness to know 
more about the lassies and what they had to 
sell, and what the gold was brought to market 
in. 

“It’s likely to have been a bag,” he said to 



THE SONG WITH RIDDLES 135 

himself, but that was only guessing and how 
to find out the truth of it he could not tell. 

One thing was certain, though: the wind 
had brought the scrap of paper from some¬ 
where, and other scraps that held just what he 
longed to know might be scattered along the 
road. 

“I must keep my eyes open,” thought he, 
and he did. Everywhere he went, with the cows 
to pasture, or corn to the mill, up the road, and 
down, he looked for the end of the song. The 
very next afternoon, as he was coming from 
the field, he spied a bit of paper lying in a dry 
ditch, and when he had picked it up, it fitted 
with the first scrap as neatly as if the two had 
never been torn apart, and the words fitted, too. 
The lad began at the beginning and read the 
song as proudly as if he had made it himself: 


136 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

“There were three lassies as IVe heard tell, 
Hey, hey nonny! 

Who went to market their wares to sell! 
Hey, bonny lassies! 

“The first brought gold in a casket white, 
Hey, hey, nonny! 

The next had a comb all amber bright, 
Hey, bonny lassies! 

“A silvery ball in a silky coat,” 

(Hey, hey, nonny!) 

“I’ll sell,” laughed the last lass, “for a groat,” 
Hey, bonny lassies! 

“There came a robber, oh, bold and gay! 
Hey, hey-” 


“Shame on him,” cried the lad. “If I had 
been near enough I’d have sent him away with 



THE SONG WITH RIDDLES 137 

a broken head”; but if there had been any 
brave lad to come to the rescue of the lassies, 
he could not know, for there was no more of 
the song on the paper. 

Still the lad had high hopes of finding the 
end of it. 

“In old wives’ tales everything happens 
three times, and why not in real life as well?” 
he said; and what should he see not long after 
this, but a bird flying by with a long strip of 
paper in its bill. 

“Stop, stop!” cried the lad, but the bird only 
flew the faster. The paper might have been lost 
forever if it had not caught in a bramble bush 
and hung there. The lad was so eager to see if 
there was more of the song on it that he could 
scarcely untangle it. But when he had gotten 
it free he had pay for his trouble, for though 


138 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

the paper was dirty and discolored enough to 
have discouraged anybody else, the lad studied 
it until he made out every word that was 
printed there. Sure enough it told of the rob¬ 
ber so bold and gay: 

“Who robbed the lassies that morn of May, 

Hey, hey, nonny! 

“He broke the casket and swallowed the gold, 

Hey, hey, nonny! 

The comb he gobbled, this robber bold, 

Hey, bonny lassies! 

“The silvery ball he was fain to try, 

Hey, hey, nonny! 

He sliced it up and began to cry, 

Hey, bonny lassies! 

“The tears they ran from his eyes like rain, 


THE SONG WITH RIDDLES 139 

Hey, hey, nonny! 

“Ho,” laughed the last lassie, “try it again.-” 

Here the paper ended leaving the lad sorely 
puzzled. Swallowed the gold? Gobbled a 
comb? Sliced a silvery ball and began to cry? 
What could the song mean? 

“There are riddles in it,” he said to himself, 
“and where there are riddles, there must be 
answers.” 

Where to find the answers he did not know, 
but he kept his eyes wide open. When he went 
into the village next Saturday to buy a bun and 
spied a bit of paper pasted on the shop window, 
he fairly ran to see if there was anything to 
read on it. And do you believe it? he found 
these very words: 

“There were three lassies as you’ve heard tell, 

Hey, hey, nonny! 



i 4 o THE CHOOSING BOOK 

But what were the wares they had to sell? 

Hey, bonny lassies! 

“The casket white with its store of gold. 

Hey, hey, nonny, 

Was nought-” 

“They are riddles,” shouted the lad and he 
ran into the shop so fast to ask where the paper 
had come from, that he stumbled over a cat, 
and upset a basket of apples. The shopkeeper 
had a mind not to answer his question at all, 
and when at last he coaxed her into a good hu¬ 
mor, all that he learned was this: the wind had 
blown the scrap of paper to her door and she 
had pasted it across a crack in the window- 
pane! 

The lad put the riddles to every one he met. 
What gold that lay in a casket white might be 



THE SONG WITH RIDDLES 141 

swallowed? What amber comb could be gob¬ 
bled up? What silvery ball in a silky coat 
could make the robber who sliced it cry? 

He asked his grandmother and all the rest 
of his kinspeople. He asked the mayor and he 
asked the beadle. He asked the parson and he 
asked the clerk, and when none of them had 
answers for him he started out to London 
Town. 

“For there are more people to ask there than 
here,” said he. 

It was early in the morning when he got to 
London Town and, as fortune would have it, 
the first man he met was the Long Song-Seller 
crying his wares: 

“Three yards for a penny! Songs! Beautiful 
songs!” 

“Have you any with riddles in them?” asked 


142 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

the lad, for he had a penny in his pocket to 
spend. 

“The finest ever printed,” said the peddler. 
“The king himself could not guess the riddles 
unless he already knew the answers.” And 
what should he do but pull out from his songs 
the very one that told the whole story of the 
lassies and their wares. And this is what the 
laddie read: 

“The casket white with its store of gold, 

Hey, hey, nonny! 

Was naught but an egg so I’ve been told, 

Hey, bonny lassies! 

“A honey-comb is all amber bright, 

Hey, hey, nonny! 

Who would not gobble it with delight? 

Hey, bonny lassies! 


A <. ( 



The very one that told the whole story. — Page 1 ^ 2 , 

















SONG WITH RIDDLES IN IT 143 

“And what but an onion scarce worth a groat, 
Hey, hey, nonny! 

Was the silvery ball in its silky coat, 

Hey, bonny lassies!” 

The lad was as pleased as if he had found 
hidden treasure, and so was the peddler when 
he had heard all that I have told you, and 
pocketed his penny. 

“ ’T is an ill wind that blows nobody good,” 
said he; and that saying is old enough to be 


true. 





































THE CHRISTMAS WITCH 


O NCE upon a time there was a little old 
woman who lived in a village close 
by the Wood that is called Enchanted. 
She lived all alone, and she lived to herself, 
for though she was friendly to others, others 
were not friendly to her. And all because of 
something that she did year by year as surely 
as Christmas Day came round. 

On Christmas Day there was singing of 
carols and ringing of bells in the village, and 
gathering of friends and playing of games, but 
the little old woman took part in none of these. 
Instead she put on her cloak and hood (and 
never was there a redder cloak and hood!) 


147 


148 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

and with a long leather bag in her hand she 
went away into the Enchanted Wood. No¬ 
body knew what she did there, and for that 
very reason everybody was sure that what she 
did was wrong. 

“A witch could not have queerer ways than 
hers,” said one busybody, and what she said 
was told from one to another till at last there 
was not a person in the village who did not be¬ 
lieve that the little old woman was a witch. At 
least if there was any one who did not agree 
with the rest he kept his opinion to himself. 

As soon as people got into the way of believ¬ 
ing that the little old woman was a witch, they 
were always finding something to prove that 
they were right. 

A man, who was hurrying home to eat his 
Christmas dinner, saw two ravens as black as 


THE CHRISTMAS WITCH 149 

night, flying into the Wood that is called En¬ 
chanted. 

“They are going to meet the old witch,” he 
said; and when he got home and told what he 
had seen diere was a great nodding of heads 
and whispering among those who heard him. 
Ravens were witches’ friends, there was no 
doubt of it. 

Then a little boy who peeped in her window 
saw the little old woman putting bread-crusts, 
and crumbs, and a handful of wheat in her 
long leather bag; and when he told his mother, 
she said: 

“That is to thicken the broth that witches 
make.” 

But the greatest proof that the little old 
woman was up to mischief was that she would 
never answer a word about how she spent her 


150 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

Christmas days, though more than one person 
asked her. Even when her nearest neighbor 
said, “Is it to visit the sick that you go?” she 
hurried on without a word. 

It was no wonder, or at least so it was said, 
that the children soon learned to run by her 
house as if a bogie were after them; or that the 
grown people had nothing but cold words and 
looks for the little old woman. Every year that 
passed she was left more and more to herself, 
and every Christmas there was more and more 
talk when, dressed in her crimson cloak and 
hood, she went with her bag to the Wood. 

There is no telling what might have hap¬ 
pened in the end if it had not been that, on one 
Christmas morning, a child, who was forever 
thinking and talking of magic things, set out 
to follow her. 


THE CHRISTMAS WITCH 151 

No matter if the grown people had warned 
the children to keep away from the Enchanted 
Wood on Christmas Day, or what they had 
said witches might do to any one who inter¬ 
fered with them, he was determined to see what 
he could see; so when the little old woman 
started on her Christmas journey he went as 
close behind her as he dared. On the way he 
met a playmate who wanted to know where 
he was going. 

“Oh, just to see the little old woman eat her 
Christmas dinner with all the other witches,” 
said the child; and nothing would do but that 
the playmate must go with him. 

By and by a girl, who was going Christmas- 
visiting with a basket of cakes on her arm, 
spied them stepping along so quietly and mys¬ 
teriously, and as she was as curious as any- 


152 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

body, she went out of her way to ask what they 
were doing. 

“Why,” said she when she heard, “there is 
nothing that I should like so much to see as 
witches at their Christmas dinner. I must go, 
too”; and go she did, cakes and all. 

Other children came running to join them, 
and it was not long before older people began 
to notice them and to ask, “Whither away?” 
or, “Why so quiet on a Christmas Day?” 

“Because we are going to see the little old 
woman eat her Christmas dinner with all the 
other witches in the Enchanted Wood,” an¬ 
swered the first child, and no sooner had they 
heard this than the older people were as eager 
to go as anybody. 

Soon the idea spread that to follow the little 
old woman and find out what she did was not 


THE CHRISTMAS WITCH 153 

only the right thing to do, but that it should 
have been done long ago. 

“Why have we never thought of it before?” 
said everybody. 

By the time the Enchanted Wood was 
reached a crowd of people, some very young 
and some old, some very timid and some who 
thought themselves as brave as lions, were fol¬ 
lowing the little old woman; but they went so 
quietly that she did not dream that they were 
there. She kept steadily on her way down the 
road, and through the Wood till she came to 
a clear place where the ground rose into a little 
hill. Then just as the people, who were scat¬ 
tered among the trees to watch, began to won¬ 
der what she would do next, she gave a call that 
was as much like the call of a bird as if she had 
been one herself. 


154 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

And, all at once, the watchers heard a stir 
and a whir all through the Wood. 

“The witches are coming,” whispered some 
one and the bravest in the crowd quailed at the 
thought. It is even said that some people closed 
their eyes from fear. 

But when they took courage to look again 
the hill was covered, not with witches but with 
birds; redcaps, linnets, throstles, mavises, and 
every other bird that you might name; and all 
of them chirping and calling and singing— 
oh, never was there sweeter Christmas music 
than the birds made that day! And in the midst 
of them stood the little old woman throwing 
out the crumbs and grain that she had brought 
for their Christmas dinner. Her crimson hood 
had fallen from her head and a tiny brown 
bird had lighted there. A robin sat on her 




Never was there sweeter Christmas music than the birds 

made that day! — Page 15U. 
























THE CHRISTMAS WITCH 155 

shoulder and a swallow fed from her hand. 

The village people could scarcely believe 
their eyes, and only the child who had led them 
to the Wood had anything to say as they 
slipped away home. 

“I wish that the Christmas Witch would let 
me help her feed the birds,” said he, and that 
is how the little old woman got the name that 
she was called ever after. 

Never a word did she hear of what had been 
done that Christmas Day, but all at once peo¬ 
ple grew so friendly and kind that often when 
she went to bed at night she lay awake to won¬ 
der at it. Why, somebody was always running 
in to wish her “good-day” or to tell her pleas¬ 
ant news. 

And that was not all, for on the next Christ¬ 
mas day when, dressed in her crimson cloak 


156 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

and hood and carrying her bag of crumbs and 
grain, she came to the little hill in the Wood, 
there lay a great sack of wheat with a message 
on it: “For the Birds’ Christmas Dinner.” 

Oh, there was joy that day in the Wood that 
is called Enchanted. Redcaps, linnets, thros¬ 
tles, mavises, and all the other birds that you 
can name were there, chirping and calling and 
singing till the Wood was filled with the music 
they made. The little old woman laughed to 
hear it, and so did her friends and neighbors 
back in the shadows of the trees, for they had 
followed her again to watch the feast. 

“What a fine thing it is,” they whispered, 
“to have a Christmas Witch in our town.” 

















































THE MERRY BELLS OF WRAYE 


T HERE was once a lad who went rov¬ 
ing. He was born and brought up 
in the town of Wraye, which every¬ 
body knows is a good town, and why he was 
not satisfied to stay there it would be hard to 
tell. But nothing would satisfy Roger, for that 
was his name, but going to sea. So to sea he 
went, and there were people in plenty who said 
that he would never come back. But his mother 
was not one of these. 

“The sea is a wide pasture, and Roger is a 
young colt,” she said; “but never is a long 
time, and home is a grand place to go when 
you are away from it,” said she. 


160 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

Sure enough, on a Christmas eve when no¬ 
body was expecting him, Roger the rover 
came home. The good people of Wraye were 
asleep in their beds, dreaming of Christmas 
puddings, and sugar plums, and who knows 
what besides. Not even a dog was awake to 
bark a welcome to the laddie. And all dogs 
liked Roger. 

It seemed no longer than yesterday to him 
that he had gone away to seek his fortune with 
little more than bread and cheese in his 
pockets, but he had seen strange sights and 
strange places since that day. The school¬ 
master of Wraye, though he knew more than 
most folk, had never even heard of some of 
the places where Roger had been. 

As for the fortune, why, the lad’s pockets 
would not hold all the shillings he had saved 


MERRY BELLS OF WRAYE 161 


to bring to his mother. He had to tie some of 
them up in his handkerchief. Oh, yes, he had 
done well for himself. 

But though he had sailed so far and seen so 
much, Roger was glad to get home, and glad 
to see by the light of the moon that nothing 
was changed in the town of Wraye. The 
wooden sign at the inn door was creaking in 
the wind, just as it had creaked since the day it 
was hung there. Dame Trot, who kept the vil¬ 
lage shop, still had gingerbread alphabets in 
her window to tempt little learners; the town 
pump’s broken nose had never been mended, 
and the parson’s gate stood open as it always 
had done, so that any one who wished might 
go in without any trouble. 

“Yes, it is good to be at home again,” 
thought Roger, and he would have gone 


162 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

quietly to his mother’s house had it not been 
that, just then, his eyes fell upon the church 
tower, that was overgrown with the greenest 
ivy in the world, or so he thought. 

Up in the church tower hung the bells which 
the sexton rang on Sabbath days, and Christ¬ 
mas, and all great occasions. Roger himself 
had rung them once when the sexton’s back 
was turned. 


Ding-a-ding-dong 
% Ding-a-dong-dell! 

He remembered yet how merry they had 
sounded. 

“If I could get my hands on the ropes I 
would ring the bells to-night for the fun of it,” 
said Roger. “It would make a pretty stir or I’m 
no sailor. And no sooner had he thought of 


MERRY BELLS OF WRAYE 163 

such a prank than he began to look about for 
a way to carry it out. 

The great door of the church was locked, 
and the big iron key was under the sexton’s 
pillow; Roger knew that very well. 

“But what is the need of a key when the bel¬ 
fry window is open wide?” he asked himself. 
“And what can keep a sailor laddie from 
climbing where ivy grows as strong as a 
rope?” So up he went, clinging to the stout 
old ivy stems, and finding a foothold in the 
tangled vines, or the cracks and ledges of the 
rough stone wall. 

“Now for my fun,” said he as he reached 
the window, and the very next minute the bells 
rang out: 

Ding-a-ding-dong, 
Ding-a-dong-dell! 


164 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

Everybody in Wraye waked up at the sound. 

Ding-a-ding-dong, 

Ding-a-dong-dell. 

“The pirates are coming!” called the mayor 
who had been a sailor himself when he was 
young. 

“The towm is on fire!” cried an old woman 
who was always expecting just such a hap¬ 
pening. 

“Thieves! Thieves!” screamed Dame Trot. 

But no matter what was said or who said it, 
everybody hurried into his clothes and ran to 
the church as fast as he could run. The sexton 
with his nightcap set crooked on his head was 
the first one there. 

“The door is locked,” he cried, brandishing 
the key to prove his words. 


MERRY BELLS OF WRAYE 165 

"It is witchcraft,” declared the beadle who 
had come off without his wig. 

"Or a Christmas miracle,” said the old par¬ 
son who always thought the best of everything. 
And all the time they were talking the bells 
rang on: 

Ding-a-ding-dong, 

Ding-a-dong-dell. 

“Witch, or robber, or what not, give me a 
look at this fine bell-ringer," said the inn¬ 
keeper, and flourishing the poker that he had 
brought with him he bade the sexton open the 
door. 

“But let me go first,” said the parson. “It 
would be an evil deed to disturb an angel, if 
angel it should chance to be.” 

Everybody had an opinion or plan and 
spoke it out, but what with the bells dinging 


166 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

and donging and every tongue in Wraye click¬ 
ing and clacking it was hard to make head or 
tail of what was said. 

At last, however, it was decided that the 
parson and the innkeeper should go together 
to the church tower, which was too small to 
hold more, while the rest of the people waited 
in the church below ready for whatever might 
happen. 

But while they were making their plans 
Roger was making his. No sooner did he hear 
the parson and the innkeeper on the stair then 
he was out of the belfry window and scram¬ 
bling down his ivy ladder. The joke would 
have been on the people of Wraye, and a good 
joke, too, if it had not been for Roger’s mother. 

She had not followed the rest into the church 
but still stood by the tower thinking, for she 


MERRY BELLS OF WRAYE 167 

was always one to use her head, as the saying is. 

“ ’Tis just such a prank that a foolish laddie 
might play,” she said to herself and it was just 
then that Roger, who was too full of laughter 
to be cautious in his climbing, fell over him¬ 
self, as it were, and landed at her feet. 

Another woman might have run away in 
fright, but Roger’s mother was no coward. 

“Rogue,” she cried, and she was lifting her 
hand to catch him by the collar when she 
caught a glimpse of his twinkling eyes. 

The cry of joy that she gave brought the 
people of Wraye out of the church in a hurry, 
parson, innkeeper, sexton, beadle, and all; and 
every one of them asking questions at the same 
time. Master Roger was well pleased with the 
stir he had made. Why, what with talking and 
laughing and shaking Roger’s hand to bid him 


168 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

welcome, and telling his mother what a fine 
lad he was, and going again and again to look 
at the church tower as if it were something new 
to see, there was no more sleep in the town of 
Wraye that night. And to cap all the sexton 
rang the merry bells again: 


Ding-a-ding-dong, 
Ding-a-dong-dell! 





































/ 




THE KING WHO CUT DOWN 
THE ENCHANTED WOOD 


T HE wood that is called Enchanted lies 
in the centre of a kingdom, and it 
happened that once there came to the 
throne a king who did not believe in elves, 
nor fairies, nor anything magic. 

He had not worn his crown long enough to 
get used to it when he sent for all the wood- 
choppers in his kingdom, and bade them go 
on a certain day to the Wood that is called 
Enchanted and cut it down. 

“It is not an Enchanted Wood,” said he, 
“for there is no such thing; but as long as it 


172 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

stands, people will call it enchanted, and the 
sooner it is down the better.” 

There was a great deal of sorrow in the 
land because of the king’s decision, and many 
people tried to persuade him to change his 
mind. 

One of these was a little maid who brought 
with her a treasure-box. 

“See,” said she, opening the box so that the 
king might look inside. “See, the pearls and 
rubies that came from the Enchanted Wood. 
If you cut it down I shall have no more jewels.” 

“Tut, tut,” said the king. “There are only 
holly-berries and mistletoe. Real jewels are 
very fine and cost a great deal of money.” 

“Oh, but I pay for mine with pebble money,” 
said the little maid; and she would have told 
him of her brother, the jewel merchant who 



“See, the pearls and rubies that came from the Enchanted 

Wood.”— Page 171. 
















THE ENCHANTED WOOD 173 

climbed die tallest trees for the pearls and ru¬ 
bies, but the king’s servants hurried her away 
to make room for the next petitioner, who was 
an old, old man. 

“Every night I walk in the Wood that is 
called Enchanted and listen to the trees as they 
talk together,” he told the king. “The old trees 
and the young trees, they have wonderful 
things to tell. Only last night I heard the be¬ 
ginning of a secret and if you cut down the 
Wood I may never know the end of it.” 

“But trees do not talk,” said the king, and 
the old man was hurried off in his turn. 

Then all the story-tellers who knew tales 
about the Wood came to the king. 

“Once,” said one of these,” a child lay down 
in the Wood on a moonlit night, and saw four 
winds with his eyes shut.” 


174 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

“How could he see four winds when there 
is only one?” asked the king. “And, besides, 
he was dreaming.” 

“But every year,” said another story-teller, 
“a white doe comes into the Wood to get a 
honey-cake which the lord of the manor puts 
under a hazel-tree for her. It is said that when 
he was a child she watched over him as if she 
were his mother.” 

“Deer eat grass, not honey-cake,” snapped 
the king; and so it went with every tale. The 
more he heard, the less he believed. 

Then other people who loved pretty fancies 
and tales persuaded the king to go himself to 
the Wood. 

“If he once gets into it he will never have 
the heart to cut it down,” they said; but this, 
too, did no good. 


THE ENCHANTED WOOD 175 

When the king was told to listen to a brook’s 
song, he said there was nothing to hear but 
water trickling over stones. When a fairy ring 
was pointed out to him he said it was caused 
by dampness. No matter what he saw or heard, 
he was only the more set to cut down the Wood, 
and on the appointed day he sent the choppers 
to do his will. All day long the ring of their 
axes was heard in the Wood. 

What became of the animals, no one knew. 
Some said they had gotten word of the king’s 
purpose and gone away to the deep forest. But 
the birds flew above the workers, calling and 
crying as the trees fell. The brook was choked 
with rubbish and the fairy rings were trampled 
out of sight. By evening there was nothing 
left, and many a child went to bed that night 
sobbing as if his heart would break. 


176 THE CHOOSING BOOK 

“Where will the winds live now?” asked 
the child who lived with his grandmother in 
a little hut across from the place where the 
Wood had been. 

“Never fret,” said his grandmother. “The 
wide world is the wind’s home, and as for the 
Wood, you shall see what you will see; and so 
shall the king.” 

Whatever that meant, the little boy went to 
sleep comforted, and next morning when he 
looked out what should he see but the Wood 
that is called Enchanted just where it had al¬ 
ways been. Not a tree was missing, willows, 
aspens, hawthorns, hazels, and all, there they 
were with their green heads close together as 
if they were whispering secrets. The birds 
were twittering, and all the other little wild 
folk were back. The brook was singing its 


THE ENCHANTED WOOD 177 

song as if it had never stopped, and there was 
a new fairy ring in the grass. 

“But the king had the Wood cut down,” said 
the little boy who could scarcely believe his 
own eyes. 

“To be sure he did, and other kings before 
him have done the same,” said his grand¬ 
mother, “but nobody has ever yet been able to 
keep an Enchanted Wood from growing up 
again.” 



4 


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